Valentine’s Day Massacre

I’m not surprised in the least the scale said 164 pounds this week. That’s .06 pounds. Point. Zero. Six. Explanation? I went on a bar crawl Friday night and drank way too much… or was roofied, one of the two. I’ll go with I was over-served by the wait staff of the five bars I went to. Anyway, I ended my night by stumbling home, but my intoxicated brain needed to stop at convenience store for munchies before I got there. Let’s just say I puked an entire bag of beef Jerky and found some Pizza Combos in the bottom of my purse the next morning. I didn’t get out of bed all day Saturday. Believe me, I’m not proud of myself. I woke up Sunday feeling like I’d been given a second chance from God and made the most of the day by going for a five mile run and cooking a delicious Salmon dinner.

I was ready to really kill it this week but then ran into a tiny obstacle: Monday was Valentine’s Day. My coworkers and I handed out Valentines and candy… All of which I consumed by noon. I felt sick to my stomach and had a serious sugar head ache but just kept shoving it in. I capped off the evening by going to Five Guys and shopping for hamsters. Saddest thing you’ve ever heard? Me too. The only reason I didn’t buy a hamster is because I knew I’d never score with a guy ever again if I had a hamster cage in my apartment.

Anyway, drinking and holidays seem to be my weaknesses. I’m going to try and take a break from the booze for awhile but we’ll see how that goes.

In other news, I’m getting a new tattoo tomorrow. You’ll all just have to wait and see what it is.